


Nothing Changes

by mythomagicallydelicious



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Gen, Pre-Weirdmageddon, slight insert of filbrick's shitty fathering mottos, they fight and cry and nothing gets better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-25 05:02:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14969672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: Stan and Ford were fighting again, but as Ford turned away Stan said one last thing not meant to be heard. A lot more is said on Stan's part and Ford can't process a single word.





	Nothing Changes

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt from a list picked by @shadowofaghost5 on tumblr-
> 
> “Yeah, go on. Walk away. It’s not like I haven’t been alone before. I’m used to it by now."

“Yeah, go on. Walk away. It’s not like I haven’t been alone before. I’m used to it by now.”

Ford had been on his way out of the room to do just that. But something in Stan’s tone caught him. His brother was the kind to push and punch and fight when he was mad. And that argument they’d just had could be one for the books. Not as terrible as being pushed into a portal, but a lot got thrown around in their argument. Old wounds brought up and scabs ripped off and pouring figurative blood once more.

But something about Stan’s tone wasn’t the anger-fueled voice he’d been using during their argument. There was something tired behind it. Something Ford couldn’t quite place. He turned back and looked at his brother, catching him in a moment he was sure his brother didn’t mean for him to see. (His back had been turned after all, and when had Ford ever turned back for Stan after shutting himself away?)

His brother had one hand up to his cheeks, wiping tears that had fallen there soundlessly. Stan wasn’t looking at him, gaze fixed on the floor, shoulders defeated. Just seconds ago his fists had been raised and raring for a fight. Now it was as if it had been drained out of him. Like a switch had ben flipped. Thinking now, Ford realized how low Stan’s voice had been. He probably hadn’t intended for his brother to hear those final words.

But Ford has had thirty years dimension hopping to sharpen his survival instincts, and everything that goes with that. Including his hearing. Stan’s voice had carried across the basement as Ford was stomping away, clear to his ears and had made him stop, turn, and witness his brother’s vulnerability.

“Stanley?” Ford asked, hesitating on his way out of the basement. He hadn’t seen his brother cry in years—since long before getting kicked out, definitely. It was off-putting, especially on his old face. It looked wrong.

Stan’s head jerked at his name, looking up in surprise at seeing Ford still there. His shoulders were shaking and Ford couldn’t tell if it was the embarrassment at being caught, the prior emotion displayed, or anger. In any other case, Ford would have guessed anger, but Stan still hadn’t answered him and his brother’s eyes were darting around as if looking for escape.

“What? You wanna stay now? Don’t wanna see your pitiful brother make you feel bad? Wanna  _fix me_  even more, Ford?” Stan said, trying to bring back his stand-offish tone from before.

But Ford could hear the tremor in his tone. He could see that Stan wasn’t quite making eye contact with him. His brother who never backed off from a fight couldn’t square off against him now, despite the harsh words they’d sparred with moments before.

The tears had shook Ford. It pierced through the cold anger he had been shrouded in before.  _He’d made his brother cry_ , he thought to himself.  _We fight, we don’t cry. We’re Pines men, we’re tougher than that_. The words echoed in Ford’s mind, and he knew there was more Filbrick in them than his own mind, pushing through his brain as he struggled to form a response.

(He knew those thoughts were a lie. He cried after Stan got kicked out, two weeks later when he calmed down enough and didn’t know how to face school without his brother. He cried when Fiddleford quit the project, quit their friendship. He cried when he was pushed into the portal when he was first able to catch his breath. He cried when he met Jheselbraum. “The Pines men don’t cry” had followed him for years and called him weak for breaking down, had let himself believe he was weak for crying, but he couldn’t control it, even when he desperately wanted to. Their father was a liar. The Pines men did cry, he was looking at Stan crying right now.)

“What, Ford? Are you staying or leaving? I’ll be  _fine_  on my own, I’ve been there a thousand times. Hell, I’ve been there a  _million_ times. You-you don’t need to—“Stan’s breathing was breaking, uneven, and he looked so mad at himself for not being able to choke those thoughts out straight. “You don’t gotta stand here another second with me. Hell, you  _just said_  you can’t stand another second with me. What are you doing now? H-huh? W-what are you doing?” Stan’s voice got worse as he yelled at Ford, who still had no answer. Stan turned away, shoulders hunched further in on himself, hiding himself away.

Ford felt stuck, rooted to his spot. He couldn’t go over and comfort Stanley. He tried moving and found his muscles locked up. His brain was running ten different ways, trying to process everything. Their fight, their prior words, Stan’s final reactions, his most recent words,  _the tears he could still see in Stan’s profile, that his brother was desperately trying to hide_.

In the end, when he heard Stan sniffle loudly, unable to keep a hold on his reactions, Ford took one step back, and then another, turning away from Stanley and practically running to the stairs leading away from this situation.

-

Stan heard a quiet, almost certainly meant to be unheard, “ _I hate change_ ,” as his brother disappeared, his boots making soft thuds against the ground as his brother raced away from him. Once he heard the elevator doors close, he broke down in earnest, loud sobs echoing off the basement walls, echoing back to him in the achingly lonely space.

“Yeah, go on. Walk away. I-I’m used to it by,  _huhh_ , used to it b-by now. I g-guess I hate change, I hate change too.”

And Stan cried alone, just like he has for the last forty years of his life, wishing he wasn’t used to feeling weak like this. Wishing he wasn’t alone, just this once. Wishing change wasn’t so dam hard.


End file.
